


Unfaithful

by st_crispins



Series: The St. Crispin's Day Society [22]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mature Situations, New Year's Eve, Sex, St. Crispin's Day Society universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9122827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_crispins/pseuds/st_crispins
Summary: Celebrating in a quiet get-away on New Year's Eve, Napoleon Solo tells April Dancer how his involvement with a tantrika ended his relationship with Clara. Mature/sexual situations.





	

**_Somewhere in Vermont. New Year’s Eve, 1968._ **

 

The climax roared through her like a chemical fire burning out of control, igniting neural pathways she didn’t know she had. April Dancer buried her face in the pillow to stifle the deep-throated groan that rumbled up from her chest and escaped finally as a thin, high-pitched keen. As her body spasmed, her well-toned muscles contracted, rippling uncontrollably, and she felt such a powerful jolt of pleasure, it was downright embarrassing.

 

 _Oh my God_ , she thought, too shaken to form the words aloud. She could feel Napoleon coming too, although she was so satiated herself, the sensation of him pulsing inside her barely registered.

 

“Pretty good, huh?” Napoleon chuckled, after a moment, pleased with the results. He’d dug back into his memories, excavating techniques he hadn’t bothered with in years, determined to give her the most mind-blowing climax ever.  Circling from behind her, he dropped down on the adjacent pillow. “See? I told you so.”

 

They’d been going at it since returning from the slopes in the afternoon, and now it was almost 11 p.m. Napoleon’s achingly slow, methodical lovemaking had given her two earlier orgasms, but they’d been soft and diffused, and not quite entirely satisfying. When she’d grown impatient, he’d counseled her to relax and play along, because eventually, all the nudging and retreating, ratcheting up and easing down, would be worth the delay. As it turned out, he was right.

 

“That was incredible,” she murmured, rolling lazily to her side, too exhausted to breathe, never mind move. She couldn’t even summon up enough energy to open her eyes. “Where the hell did you learn that? And don’t tell me U.N.C.L.E. training.”

 

His head propped up on one hand, Napoleon fingered her cheek and laughed softly. “From a tantrika.”

 

“A what?” April muttered. 

 

“A woman who practices sacred sex.”

 

April opened one eye. “You’re kidding, right?”

 

“Nope.”

 

He kissed her lightly, then bounced off the bed, padding across the room, in search of a bottle they’d brought with them. “Want some champagne?”

 

“It’s not midnight yet.” And that was not to mention the fact that they’d polished off two bottles of wine already, one in the afternoon and one with supper.

 

“So we’ll cheat.”

 

“Isn’t that bad luck?”

 

“Not that I’ve heard.”

 

“Okay.”

 

April peeled back the goose down quilt and slipped under it, grateful for the warmth and comfort. Their room was in a sprawling Victorian inn, lousy with chintz and flowered wallpaper that was nevertheless equipped with a brand new whirlpool bathtub big enough for two nestled in one corner beside the fireplace. They’d ordered room service to avoid the holiday crowd in the restaurant below, sneaking away like honeymooners, to share a light supper before a crackling fire between energetic bouts of lovemaking.

 

There was the sound of a pop near the tub and soon Napoleon returned, climbing back into bed with two flutes in one fist and the bottle in another. He poured them both a drink with a flourish and managed to fill their glasses without spilling a drop.

 

“You’re in rare form,” April laughed, flopping on her back as she accepted one of the glasses.

 

“And why not?” Napoleon placed the bottle on the nightstand. She was right. He felt the best he had in months. “This time of year, I’m usually in some God-forsaken hellhole, getting captured or shot at. Tonight, on the other hand, I’m tucked away here with you, and it couldn’t be more perfect. So: to an encouraging start to a hopefully better new year  —” He clinked his glass against hers. “— cheers.”

 

“Amen,” April agreed and took a long swig of the champagne. It was a Tattinger’s Brut, not top of the line but decent enough, the best they could scrounge on short notice.

 

            “Does Mark know we’re here?” Napoleon asked, sipping the champagne.

 

April shook her head. “I told him I was visiting relatives — a cousin.”

 

Despite the corniness of the joke, they shared a conspiratorial laugh.

 

“And how about our dear _tovarishch_?” she added

 

“He didn’t ask, which means he’s figured it out.”

 

“No secrets between the two of you, that’s for sure,” April observed with a rueful sigh. Although no one else at U.N.C.L.E. — including Mark— knew, it hadn’t taken long before Illya literally stumbled upon the fact that she and Napoleon were sleeping together. 

 

“Not many,” Solo conceded. He almost felt guilty, sneaking off with April like this and leaving his partner to celebrate the New Year alone. Almost.

“And how about between us?”

 

“Oh, well, that depends.” Draining his glass, Napoleon set it on the nightstand, then hunkered down under the quilt to snuggle close. “What is it you want to know?”

The last time they were together, when he was similarly relaxed and pleasantly inebriated, she’d coaxed him into telling her how he lost his virginity. Even Illya didn’t know all the details of that one.

“How about the answer to the question I asked before?” April said mischievously. “Where did you learn to make love like that?” He’d showed her several new positions and matched her, orgasm for orgasm, as he always did. She’d never heard of another man who could come so often and so effortlessly. It was downright unnatural. If Napoleon hadn’t possessed such a good and noble heart, she would have sworn he was an incubus masquerading in a tie and a business suit.

 

“I told you. A tantrika, and she took me into a temple for a couple of days —”

 

“You mean like a priestess?”

Napoleon shrugged. “I guess you could call her that. She was also the daughter of a local maharajah. And she worshipped Shakti, the goddess —”

“Hindu?”

“Sort of, but it goes back further than that. At least, that’s what Nate told me at the time. I don’t remember all the details.”

“Nate was in on this, too?” April asked, surprised. Now she was really interested. Nate Cassidy had been Solo’s mentor and friend. Before the older agent had been murdered by Thrush in Las Vegas the previous June, he, too, had cultivated a reputation as a ladies’ man.

“It was during a _mission_ , darling. And yes, one of our agents was caught in some local trouble and we had to work out an exchange so he wouldn’t get executed.”

“Now wait a minute,” April said, shifting against the pillows. “Let me get this straight: you had some kind of sacred sex with a priestess in a temple somewhere in India in order to save a guy’s life?”

“Ah — yeah. That’s essentially it.”

“For how many days? Two?”

“Actually, closer to three.” He grinned at her.

“Oh, luv,” she laughed, shaking her head, “this is one story I just have to hear.”

“All right.” He had nothing better to do, and neither of them was ready yet for another round of lovemaking. He poured himself another glass of champagne and drank half of it before he settled back down next to her. “It was a long time ago, long before I partnered with Illya. Let’s see: 1956, no, ’57 probably. I was living with Clara at the time. We were sharing a small walk-up studio in the Village.”

He could still remember the place. A Pullman kitchen equipped with its own set of cockroaches, a convertible couch, no air conditioning, and an unreliable radiator. You suffocated in summer and froze in the winter. None of it mattered. They were so young and so nuts for each other, they didn’t notice.

 

“I thought she had money,” April said. She’d heard all about Clara and the Terbuf Affair from Illya. She’d also heard that Clara was rich and haughty, that she’d left Napoleon because of his work, and that he still loved her despite the fact that she’d married someone else — loved her enough to risk his career and nearly his life when he ended up before a firing squad after she’d asked him for help. Illya had warned April to be very careful about how she spoke of Clara, because it was a sore topic with Napoleon and always would be.

Solo shrugged. “We were in love; it was convenient. The landlady was one of those bohemian artist types who believed in free love, so she left us alone. I was working for U.N.C.L.E. of course, and Clara was studying for her graduate degree in Political Science at NYU. Clara told her parents that I had an apartment near headquarters. Fortunately, they never visited. Everyone else in the neighborhood just assumed we were married.”

“And did you think about getting married?”

_Now there was a question_. “Oh,” Napoleon sighed, “I thought about it a lot. Almost proposed a couple of times, too. But Clara was nervous about her parents. They wanted her to earn her degree, and they weren’t too keen on her dating a spy.” Which was an understatement, but he let it pass without further elaboration.

April bristled. “We’re not spies. We’re enforcement agents.”

“Clara’s parents didn’t care to make that fine distinction.” He reached for the champagne, re-filled April’s glass and sipped some from his own. “Didn’t matter. We were happy enough.”

And they had been. Clara was smart, witty, ambitious, and independent, qualities in a woman that had always appealed to him. Napoleon knew Illya didn’t like her, but being the soul of discretion, after Terbuf, the Russian never brought the subject up again. Still, Napoleon guessed that Illya might have expressed some of those reservations to April.

He saw the guilty expression on April’s face and read her mind, knowing the question she was dying to ask. “And yes, I was faithful.” He didn’t want to sound defensive, but it came out that way despite his best efforts. “I can be that, you know.”

“I know,” April agreed, somewhat chagrined that she’d even considered the question. Within Section II, and perhaps all of U.N.C.L.E., no one’s loyalty to the organization in general, and to Waverly in particular, was more intense than Napoleon’s. That’s why the fiasco of Solo being identified as a double agent the year before during the Summit Five Affair had been so absurd.

“At least, I was until Khamjuro.” He lowered his eyes.

“The affair with the — what did you call her? — the tantrika?”

Napoleon nodded as he felt his mood subtly shift. He looked away to the crackling fireplace, the expression on his face sad and distant.

“If you don’t want to talk about it—”

“No, it’s all right.” He exhaled a deep breath. “As I said, it was a long time ago.”

_But not so long ago_ , April thought, _that losing Clara didn’t still hurt, like a small splinter in the heart._ Napoleon had been working in the field over a decade longer than April, and sometimes she forgot that not all of his scars were visible _._

“Did you know Kitt Kittridge?”

April shook his her head. “Not personally. Heard of him. Australian, right? He died before I came aboard.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Napoleon frowned as he swigged the champagne and rolled it thoughtfully around in his mouth. “We’ve lost so many. It all sort of blurs together...”

He drifted off for a moment, and she knew he was thinking about Nate as well. Before she could say something, however, he shook off the melancholy and continued.

“Well, Kitt could be somewhat abrasive. Found himself in trouble in this obscure little backwater village called Khamjuro.  It was in the middle of India, a long way off the beaten path. ”

“What happened? Did he insult the locals?”

“He defiled their temple.”

“My goodness.” April blinked. “And how did he manage to do that?”

Napoleon snorted. “By winning a running gun battle with a couple of Thrush agents who were out to kill him. He ducked into the nearby temple and ended up leaving three corpses on the floor.” He quirked a smile. “The local folks were none too pleased. Apparently, insulting the goddess could get them seven years of disease, shriveled crops, and locusts.”

“So, they were going to execute him?”

“Sacrifice him, actually. Shakti symbolizes the female principle. In one aspect, she is Tara, the goddess of inner wisdom, creation, fertility, and sexual union — she’s very peaceful, and violence offends her. But in another aspect, she can be Kali the Destroyer who, as you may have heard, has a taste for blood.”

And Napoleon would know, April realized, because he’d come up against the Thugees who worshipped Kali years later.

“Sounds like an interesting dilemma.”

“It was a diplomatic nightmare. So Mr. Waverly sent Nate in. There was no one better at negotiating than Nate Cassidy. He could talk anyone into anything.”

And so could Napoleon, April knew. His skill at manipulating people was even more well developed than his sex drive. Now, she knew where he’d acquired it.

“And Nate took me along. He used to call them ‘learning experiences,’ ” Solo said ruefully.

“And was it? A learning experience, I mean?”

“Ohhhh yes,” he replied, exhaling a deep breath. “You could certainly call it that.” He poured himself yet another glass of champagne, needing the fortification. He hadn’t talked about this to anyone in years, although it certainly crossed his mind when he offered the eulogy at Nate’s wake the previous summer.

“The village was located way the hell out in nowhere. I’ve been to some pretty isolated places, and this ranked up there in the top ten. Took us a long, long time to get there. Plane, train — I remember a yak cart, too. We ended up walking the last 10 miles. The culture was more than traditional — it was medieval. Nate called it — ah — David— no. ‘Dravidian,’ that was it. Pre-Hindu.”

“How did Nate know?”

Napoleon shrugged. “Nate was well and classically educated — Yale ’34. He’d traveled the world long before he joined U.N.C.L.E. His family was in the import-export business. He always seemed to have a lot of esoteric knowledge. Kind of like Illya, come to think of it.

“Anyway, these people had been there for thousands of years, and they still had a matrilineal society. And as I said, they worshipped the goddess Shakti.”

Taking a sip of champagne, April pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Hmmm... that must have been interesting. I think I’d like to actually see a society like that.”

“You _would_ ,” Napoleon teased her. More than once she’d discussed her ambivalence with him about navigating the pumped-up sea of testosterone that was Section II.

“We went to see the maharajah, or whatever the local head man was called. The guy lived in a big, sprawling house. I suppose it was their version of a palace. We were welcomed, given rooms, even invited to dinner.”

“They weren’t hostile to you?”

Napoleon shook his head. “No, not at all. They were quite lovely people, actually. Some of them spoke a little English. Very warm and hospitable. They even let us see Kitt. Although he was confined and under guard, he was comfortable and well fed.”

“But they were going to murder him.”

“Sacrifice him,” Napoleon corrected her. “There is a difference. Actually, the villagers were extremely apologetic, but y’ know— ” he clicked his tongue against his teeth “— a goddess scorned must be compensated.”

April laughed in spite of herself. “It would be funny if it weren’t so scary.”

“That’s what I thought, but Nate cautioned me not to take it lightly. It was these people’s religion after all.”

“So, how did you end up having sex in a temple?”

Napoleon drained his glass, put it down on the floor beside the bed and settled back into the pillows. “Well, the local chief had a daughter. She was the _tantrika_ — not really a priestess, mind you, more like a female guru. She came to dinner and hung around afterward. Her name was Manisha.”

“Was she as beautiful as her name?”

“Gorgeous.” Napoleon sighed and shook his head. “And God, what a body.” He conjured up an image of firm, tawny flesh draped by long silken strands of ebony hair, and his eyes became lazily half-lidded with remembered lust.

“Hey!” April slapped his shoulder. “If you keep thinking of her like that with me lying here next to you, I’m going to be insulted.”

“Sorry,” Napoleon laughed. He reached out to April and gathered her close.

She settled in beside him, enjoying the warmth and feel of his skin next to hers. There was something enormously gratifying about cuddling together, without their clothes or their holsters or their guns, and they did it whenever they could. He idly rested a hand on her breast and began to toy with the nipple.

 

“That’s better,” April said. “C’mon. Continue the story.”

“Well, they explained to Nate — to both of us — that because of all the death and violence, the temple was tainted with negative energy and was currently unusable. Nate was sympathetic and told them he understood the problem, but couldn’t we just discuss this and try to find some alternative remedy together? Perhaps a way to generate positive energy to flush out the bad.”

“Sex, right? He meant sex.”

Napoleon nodded. “Apparently, he’d done his homework — or at least, Section IV had done it for him.

 

“The head man agreed that might be a possible solution, except it couldn’t involve Kitt, since he was the defiler and his further presence would be displeasing to the goddess.”

“So you volunteered to take his place?” April chuckled knowingly.

“Actually, I didn’t.” Napoleon turned sober for the moment. “Not at all. Nate offered himself first, not seriously as it turned out, because he’d been aware that Manisha had her eye on me.”

“And you hadn’t noticed?” April said, surprised. Things couldn’t have changed for Solo that much

 

“Ohhh, I noticed, but I was trying to ignore it. I was in love with Clara, and I was on my best behavior. Anyway, the head man turned to Manisha —his daughter, remember — and asked her opinion. Apparently, in religious matters, she was the local authority.

“She studied Nate for a moment, and then she turned and asked me to stand up. When I did, she walked over to me and requested — again, very politely, I might add — for me to drop my pants.”

“No!”

 

“Uh-huh. I didn’t know what was going on, though I could make a pretty good guess, but Nate signaled me to cooperate, so I did. I just opened my belt and unzipped my fly and she came up to me and put her hand right down my boxers and into my crotch.”

April squealed. “And what did you do? Did you react?

 

Napoleon cocked an eyebrow. “What do you think? A beautiful woman grabs hold of — well, sure. I couldn’t help it. And then she started to stroke me —”

“To get you excited?”

“Yeah. It was more than a little embarrassing with everyone sitting around the table, watching. But she looked me in the eye, like she was challenging me, so I thought, ‘Hey, honey, whatever you want. It’s your show.’ I couldn’t stop myself from getting aroused — and I was _very_ aroused — but I certainly wasn’t going to come. That would have been even more embarrassing.”

“And what did she do?”

“She kept going for a bit, and then, she pulled her hand out, turned to her father and said, ‘He’s teachable. He’ll do.’ ”

April snuffled softly. Oh, Napoleon was teachable all right. It seemed he’d learned something from every woman he’d ever slept with, and after so many years, they numbered in triple digits.

“So that was that.”

“No,” Napoleon said. “It wasn’t.” 

_Not by a long shot_. He looked to the fire again, wrestling with feelings he thought he’d long since put to rest. He liked sleeping with April, but she was always doing this to him, rummaging around in his psyche, asking questions better left unanswered, stirring up emotions that he generally preferred to ignore.  

“Nate knew I was reluctant, and he came to my room that night to talk. I told him I didn’t want to do it. That I didn’t want to be unfaithful to Clara.” Napoleon glanced sideways at April. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“No,” she said, knowing he would recognize the lie. “What did Nate say?”

“He was angry with me, and that was unusual because Nate never got angry over anything. I can still remember every word he said.”

And every detail about the scene, too. He could still see Nate standing there in the doorway, arms folded, his voice unnaturally cool and calm, every word measured. Napoleon would have preferred if Nate had shouted. Then it might have disguised the disappointment, so obvious that it stung, which was far worse to endure than any expression of anger.  

“ ‘Son, it’s time to grow up,’ he told me.”

Napoleon’s voice changed, mimicking Cassidy’s cultured cadences. It was a pretty good imitation, April thought. “ ‘You are not married to that girl; you’ve taken no vow. But you _have_ taken an oath to U.N.C.L.E., and even before that, on the night before your graduation, you took another to your fellow field agents. Do you remember?’ he demanded. ‘ _Do you_?’

“Well, of course I did.

“ ‘This has nothing to do with Clara,’ he said. ‘This is the job. This is what you signed up to do, and goddamn it, this is no time to reconsider the fine print. So you’d better damn well get it up and make that young woman pleased as punch with the result, or a brother agent is going to die needlessly because you didn’t have the balls to do what was necessary, no matter what the personal cost.’ ”

“Whew,” April observed softly.

Napoleon nodded. “Yeah, well, of course he was right. I was being ridiculous.”

“No, you weren’t. You were in love with her.”

“But it shouldn’t have mattered. It can’t. That’s not who we are.”

Now, it was April’s turn to look away. She understood all too well what he was saying, but she hated hearing it anyway. “So you went with this Manisha,” she said, knowing there could be no other response.

Napoleon sighed heavily. “So I went.”

“And the rest, as they say, is history.”  April studied his face for a moment then leaned over and planted a kiss firmly on his lips, nudging them open with her tongue. Napoleon automatically responded, the kiss turning fiercer than she expected. When they broke apart, he asked, “What was that for?”

“You looked like you needed it.” She shifted, turning her body into his. “And besides, I want to hear all about what you did with that priestess.”

“Tantrika.”

 

“Whatever. And maybe you’ll give me a sample or two.”

Solo’s mouth quirked into a grin. “I think I already did.”

“Well, then maybe more than a sample,” April chuckled, encouraged to see his mood lighten. “So, what is sacred sex like?”

“Very slow.”

“Like this afternoon?”

“Slower. Much slower. And you meditate a lot.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“Depends upon what you’re meditating on. The ritual is called a _yoni puja_ so that should give you a hint.

“Ooooh,” April laughed. She knew a little sanskrit. “Any yoni in particular?”

“The eternal one as represented by the flesh and blood woman you happen to be with. In a nutshell, the whole thing is about worshipping the divinity of women and the sublimation — the surrender — of the male principle to the female.”

“Hmmm,” April murmured, intrigued. “I think I like the sound of this after all.”

Peeling away the quilt that covered them, she swung into a sitting position, looped her arms around Napoleon’s neck loosely, and straddled his thighs. They were nearly nose to nose. “So what did Manisha do with you exactly?”

“A lot of things.” More than he could possibly describe even if he tried. But it wasn’t just the various acts, but what Manisha had taught him to feel performing them. “First, she gave me a ritual bath,” he said, groping for concrete details to share. “And then we spent the first night naked in her bed, but all I was allowed to do was fondle her.”

April leaned in for another kiss. “All over?”

“Mmmm...” Solo replied, nibbling and drawing out her lower lip.

April chortled. “ _That_ must have taken a lot of will power.”

“That was the point. Will power’s the name of the game — especially for the male.”

April glanced down and noted his erection was stirring. Fortunately, will power wasn’t an issue tonight. Delicately, April stroked him with her fingertips to help along the effect of the memories.

“The next morning,” Napoleon continued, “she decorated me.”

“All of you? Or just the parts that counted?”

Now, it was Solo’s turn to laugh. “She was selective, yes. She painted patterns with henna —”

“Doesn’t that take a while to wear off?”

“It does, indeed. And then she had this mess of little chains —”

“Chains?” April asked, startled. She pulled back, sitting straight up. This was territory she hadn’t expected to enter.

“ _Tiny_ chains with tiny links, like a woman’s necklace. And she wrapped them around my  —.”

“Show me,” April said, her own arousal ratcheting up a notch or two. Napoleon took her index finger, spread his legs a little wider and ran her fingertip around his privates in an elaborate pattern, outlining a sort of harness.

“And there were two large rings,” he said, smiling as he locked eyes with April. Hers were sparkling with erotic interest. “One around here —” he said, placing her fingertip at the base of the shaft. “— and one here,” he added, moving her finger to the head of his now waiting erection. “And there was a line of beads that connected the two.”

“Ooooh.” April let out a shivery sigh. She had a good imagination. “And did you take off all that jewelry when you had intercourse? You _did_ have intercourse, right?”

“We did,” Napoleon confirmed, his smile turning sly. “A lot. More ways than I can remember now. Three days is a long time.”

“But how could you —y’know— come that often?” April asked.

“Most of the time, I didn’t. She told me the object was to experience the journey, not the destination. And no, she didn’t remove the rings or the chains or the beads. I think she liked the feel of them inside her. And she wore a few strategically placed rings and chains of her own.”

           

“And what was the point of all this again?”

           

“I told you: to generate positive energy to cleanse the temple and make it acceptable to the goddess. You’re not paying attention, darling.”

           

“Oh, yes I am,” April protested comically. She was still gently stroking his erection. “So what did this temple look like? Did it have erotic statues?”

           

“Of every imaginable sexual position, but only on the outside. Inside, it was totally empty. Just one big circular room with two large windows opening east and west. And rugs and pillows. And lots of red candles.”

           

“And incense?”

           

“That, too. And I remember the sound of bells — she wore tiny bells — .”

           

“Where?” April stretched, leaning backward, offering her own body. “Show me.”

           

Napoleon brushed his fingers across her neckline, just above her breasts, around her wrists and ankles, and then drew an imaginary line around her waist, below her navel.

 

“And where were those rings again?” she asked playfully.

 

He touched each nipple and then dragged his fingertip down the center of her belly until he reached a point between her thighs. “Right about — there,” he said, tickling her. April let out a little gasp. The idea of piercing such delicate flesh was a little too exotic for her taste, but she found the suggestion titillating, nonetheless.

 

“And did you enjoy all this?”

 

“After a while. It was strange at first, until I got into it. She kept giving me instructions I had to follow, things I was supposed to say. There were mantras which I learned phonetically.”

 

“Like what?”

 

Napoleon rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, thinking. “Let’s see if I can remember the translation: _Woman is divinity her. Woman is life. Woman is heaven._ ” His voice dropped low and soothing, mimicking the rhythms of a mantra. As he spoke, his hands wandered along April’s thighs while she continued to caress him. “ _Woman is wisdom. Woman is creation. Woman is perfection..._ ”

 

“Mmmm, I like that.” She closed her eyes, enjoying what they were doing as much as the story. “These folks sound very progressive.”

 

“I didn’t know what I was saying at the time. I found a translation afterward. In the ritual, Manisha represented Shakti and I represented Shiva, her consort.

 

April remembered a phallic shaped monument she’d seen once outside of Delhi. A _shivlinga_ , her guide had called it.  “Isn’t he symbolized by a great, big —?”

           

Napoleon nodded, grinning broadly.

 

“That must have been flattering.”

 

“I was only there to serve the goddess.”  And with that, he tipped her forward so that she ended up in his lap. With only the slightest maneuvering, he slipped inside her.

 

“So you got a little cultural lesson along with some good sex. It _was_ good, wasn’t it?”

 

“What do you think?” Despite all their teasing about it now, the experience had affected him profoundly, and changed the way he approached sex forever.  “An eye-opening experience, yes, it was. And there were other lessons, too. It really taught me how to pleasure a woman, what techniques to use, what positions worked best.”

 

“From the Kama Sutra?”

 

“The whole book; we ran the gamut. Those ancients knew a thing or two, let me tell you. We’ve only been re-inventing the wheel ever since. But more importantly, I learned how to control and temper my own responses, delay my own satisfaction. It made me a better lover in the long run.”

 

“I’ll say,” April groaned. Undulating her pelvis in slow circles, she leaned down to kiss him deeply, and as she did, she felt his hands slide smoothly upward, along her hips and flanks. “And was your tantrika satisfied as well?”

 

“She appeared to be,” he said, smiling as if they both were sharing a private joke. “And the temple was restored, Kitt was released, and we all went back to New York.”

 

And on the plane home, Nate had patted him on the shoulder, communicating a pride in Napoleon that he, himself, didn’t feel.

 

“What happened with Clara when you returned? You didn’t tell her about it, did you?”

 

Solo’s smile faded. “I didn’t have a choice. The henna, remember?”

 

April dropped down against his chest, still maintaining their connection. “Oh dear.” She snuggled close, her head against his shoulder. “That must have been hard. For the both of you.”

 

 _You have no idea_. He drew out a long breath, remembering the expression of betrayal mixed with utter bewilderment that had briefly flashed across Clara’s face. “She said she understood, but she didn’t; not really. How could she? To be fair, it was just too much to expect. And the next time we went to bed, I could sense something was wrong. Clara complained that I was making love to her differently, and probably, I was.”

 

“So much for worshipping the female principle,” April sighed, appreciating the terribly irony.

 

“We hung on a few more months, but that was probably the beginning of the end for us.”

 

 “Too bad Clara didn’t take advantage of what you’d learned,” April said. _Like all the rest of us have_ , she thought.

 

“Well, it wasn’t a total loss,” Napoleon observed. “It made me understand that U.N.C.L.E. can be a jealous and demanding mistress, and a man can’t serve two mistresses at the same time. At least, I can’t. Nate was right about what he told me that night, so I resolved never to be in a position that might force me to be unfaithful again. The whole affair taught me who I am and had to be.”

 

“But it cost you the woman you loved,” April reminded him. _And eventually others_ , she realized. Mara was another casualty she knew about. There were probably more that she didn’t.

 

Napoleon shrugged, though it was more wistful than sad. “All knowledge has its price.”  As the mood shifted, his erection retreated and they broke apart. April moved beside him allowing him to retrieve the bottle and fill their glasses with the last of the champagne.

 

On the other side of the room, the fire began to burn low in the fireplace, chilling the air. Napoleon yanked the covers back over them. In the corner, a little antique clock chimed twelve.

 

“Happy New Year,” Napoleon murmured, clinking his glass against hers.

 

“Happy New Year,” April agreed, although she didn’t exactly feel like celebrating. The champagne had gone flat, but they drank it anyway.

 

“It’s cold in here,” Napoleon said after a moment. He climbed out of bed, threw another log on the fire, and, using the poker, stirred the blaze back to life.

 

Returning to April, he burrowed under the quilt again and drew her back into his arms. “Now, if I remember correctly, wasn’t there a request for a sample or two?”

 

She realized he was shifting gears again, trying to lift their spirits. There was no reason that the rest of the night should be a loss. “Mmmm,” she agreed. “I do vaguely recall making such a request. I wish we weren’t out of champagne, though.”

 

“Oh, that’s all right,” Napoleon teased her. “How about if I just drink _you_?”

 

And with that, he slipped his head under the covers, and April began to squeal; and she didn’t stop smiling until sometime around dawn.

 

They spent two blissful days afterward, skiing and making love, not knowing that, in two weeks, Napoleon and Illya would be beaten nearly to death in a filthy South American prison, and ten weeks after that, April would be in a hospital bed, a bullet in her chest, barely hanging on to life.

 

And years later, whenever April thought back to that New Year’s Eve and the string of months that followed, she realized how close she and Napoleon had come to becoming true lovers. But the more intimacy they shared and the more he opened his heart to her, the better she understood that a romance between them was something that could not, and should not, happen.

 

For as Napoleon had so wisely observed, all knowledge had its price, and knowing so well who they were and what they were deeply committed to, neither one of them wanted to take the risk of ever being unfaithful.


End file.
